


Bright Center, Farthest From

by Ry_Sabir



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Handmaidens, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ry_Sabir/pseuds/Ry_Sabir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Padme's death, her handmaiden Dorme finds herself at a crossroads. Will she return to Naboo, or accept Senator Organa's offer to start a new life on Alderaan?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Center, Farthest From

**Author's Note:**

> This all came out of wondering what ever happened to Dorme and Padme's other handmaidens after the events of Revenge of the Sith. 
> 
> I have tried to be as accurate as possible to the Star Wars universe with the help of Wookiepedia, but I am by no means an expert. 
> 
> Please enjoy! :)

**Bright Center, Farthest From**

 

Dormé sighed as she gazed out the porthole of the starcruiser as it came out of hyperspace.  Below them, billions of lights cris-crossed the surface of Coruscant as the cruiser settled into standard orbit and began its descent into the governmental sector of the city planet.  Dormé normally found it a beautiful, welcoming sight, but not this time.

This time she was returning to Coruscant to pack up the late Senator Amidala’s things and prepare for the new Naboo delegation to the Imperial Senate to pick up where her late mistress had left off.

The funeral back home on Naboo had been beautiful.  Thousands of mourners had gathered in the twilight and lined the city streets of Theed, holding candles and saying prayers to pay their final respects to one of Naboo’s greatest modern figures.  Amidala’s funerary barge was pulled through the city followed by her family and the planet’s leaders - both human and Gungan.  For none had ever forgotten that Amidala had been the one to bring the two disparate cultures together.

Queen Apailana had worn one of Amidala’s old royal gowns in memory and respect for her predecessor.  The Queen had spoken at the service of Padmé’s bravery, her honesty, and the integrity of her character as both a Queen and Senator of Naboo in the Galactic Senate.  Governor Sio Bibble had read the benediction as they committed the beautiful, brave Senator’s body to its marble sarcophagus.

Through all the beautiful sadness, however, Dormé burned with fury directed within.  As Senator Amidala’s handmaiden, she’d had a duty to protect Padmé at all costs - even her own life.  Dormé thought of the handmaidens who had come before her.  Cordé had been killed by an explosion on the landing platform at Coruscant three years ago as Padmé returned to head a commission to block the Military Creation Act.  Sabé had risked her life impersonating the Queen during the Trade Federation’s blockade of Naboo a decade ago to protect Amidala’s identity.  They had done their duties, no matter how difficult it was to follow in Padmé’s galaxy-spanning footsteps.

Dormé thought of her last conversation with Padmé.  Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had just left the Naboo penthouse suite at the Senate Apartment Complex, and Padmé had been in a state of worry and shock.  Dormé had suspected why, having overheard that Anakin Skywalker - a favorite Jedi of her mistress, and Dormé suspected the father of the child Padmé was carrying - had been discovered by Master Obi-Wan to have killed young Jedi.

Almost immediately, Padmé had jumped into her star skiff with naught but the protocol droid C-3PO for protection and jetted off of Coruscant.  Padmé hadn’t given time for Dormé or Captain Typho to join her, saying it was a personal matter and she would be back before the next morning. 

Except by the next morning Dormé awoke to the blaring HoloNet news announcement that Senator Amidala was dead.  Pundits traded views, but the general consensus was that her death had something to do with the Jedi Order.  Only Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila stood in opposition to that theory, recounting both the Jedi Order and Padmé’s opposition to the Military Creation Act from the very beginning and suggesting perhaps a sinister undercurrent to the whole affair.  However, much as Dormé appreciated Mon Mothma’s words, the fact remained that Padmé was gone.  And with her, Dormé felt her reason and purpose in life had departed as well. 

The starcruiser touched down lightly on one of Republic - no, Dormé corrected herself bitterly - Galactic City’s floating landing platforms, and Dormé got up and exited the the ship along with the other passengers.  Waiting for her on the landing platform stood Captain Gregar Typho, former head of security for the Senator. 

“Captain Typho,” Dormé said, hugging her coworker.  “I saw you at the funeral, but didn’t have a chance to speak with you.” 

The man’s face was grim.  “Captain Typho died with the Senator he was sworn to protect, I’m afraid,” the Captain said, his one good eye narrowing.  “I’m simply Gregar now,” he added, offering Dormé his arm as he escorted her back to the waiting speeder.  Dormé’s heart broke a little as her hand traced the chrome hood of the Naboo embassy’s speeder. 

As the pair sped off into the Coruscant night, Dormé took in the city’s frenetic energy for what she assumed would be the final time.  Lights spun in all directions from speeders, ships, and chaotic neon signs.  “So you don’t plan on continuing your service under Representative Binks?” Dormé asked Gregar, laying a gentle hand on his arm as he drove the speeder.

He gave her a smirk.  “I may have fallen in position, but not that far,” he said.

Dormé allowed a small grin to cross her face.  “Even if he is a war hero?” she pressed.

“Even so, my lady.  I leave the protection of the future Senator in some other poor fool’s hands,” Typho replied.  “And what of you?  Will you stay as a handmaiden for Senator Binks?”

It was Dormé’s turn to smirk.  “Hardly.  Can you see me as a body double for a Gungan?”

Gregar laughed then, a deep booming sound.  “No indeed, my lady,” he added with a chuckle.

Dormé pursed her lips.  “Besides, I couldn’t work for someone I don’t respect.  Representative Binks undid all of Senator Amidala’s hard work in a single foolish action.  Don’t forget that it was he who brought the motion to utilize the Army of the Republic before the Senate.”

Typho’s face hardened.  “I doubt any from Naboo could forget.”

Dormé and Typho continued the flight in amiable silence, and Dormé drank in the sights of beautiful Coruscant.  The dome of Senate building, the soaring towers of 500 Republica, and even the closed-off spires of the dormant Jedi Temple.  All too soon, however, Typho drew the speeder to a halt outside the rooftop terrace of the Senate Apartment Complex where Amidala and her staff had lived.  Dormé thought it unfair that everything looked so much the same on the grand terrace when the Galaxy itself had been turned upside down in a single day and night.

They got out of the speeder, Typho assisting Dormé and carrying her small traveling case.  It still felt strange to the handmaiden to travel with so little; she was used to moving with vast amounts of Padmé’s beautiful clothes made in every luxurious fabric the galaxy had to offer.  

“What happened to C-3PO?” she asked, breaking their silence.

“The protocol droid?  I received a message that one of Senator Organa’s men picked him up in deep space and thought they would have a use for him.  I didn’t see that as a problem, knowing how close the Senators were,” Gregar replied. 

Dormé sighed.  “I see your point.  Still, I would have liked to say goodbye.  We worked very well together, that droid and I.”

“But he was made by that Jedi boy who was always prowling around,” Typho replied, a scowl crossing his face.

Dormé knew that Gregar had some idea about their mistress’s secret trysts with young Anakin Skywalker, but no firm information, and so decided to keep that secret as a personal memento of Padmé.  “Indeed, the droid was a gift between good friends.”  It didn’t need to be stated between them that in addition to Padmé, their Jedi friends and acquaintances were likely now deceased as well.  If the HoloNet news about the so-called Jedi Rebellion was to be believed at any rate, Dormé though bitterly..

Gregar backed off, clearing his throat as the pair passed the bubbling fountain on the terrace and entered the main living quarters.  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

Dormé hadn’t allowed herself the possibility of thinking that far ahead yet.  By not thinking about the future, Dormé was able to avoid the unpleasantness of having to picture a world without her dearest friend.  “No, not really,” she replied, shaking her head. 

“Will you go home to Naboo?  Perhaps Queen Apailana could use your skills in her court?” Gregar offered. 

“Perhaps,” Dormé acquiesced, “But frankly, I’ve had enough of politics for one lifetime.”  She turned around, looking at the familiar surroundings of the apartment.  So many strong memories resonated within these walls.  “What about you, Gregar?  Are you going to return to Naboo and work with your uncle Panaka again?” 

Typho shook his head and scowled.  “No...as a Senatorial Guard who failed in his duty, I do not wish to bring shame to my uncle.  I have decided to stay on Coruscant.” 

Dormé stopped absentmindedly fluffing a pillow and looked up at the guardsman.  “But why?  What is there for you here in Galactic City?” 

Typho couldn’t meet her eyes as he stared out at the city lights.  “I have to know the truth, Dormé.  I have to know who is responsible for Senator Amidala’s death, and whether there was anything I could have done to prevent it.” 

“Gregar...sometimes terrible things just happen…” Dormé said.  She didn’t add It’s both of our faults.  

Typho met her eyes then, understanding passing between them.  “Even so, Dormé, I want to find the person responsible for her death.”  Then, he added in barely a whisper, “And put a laser blast through their chest.”

“While I share your sentiments, Gregar, I cannot follow you down such a dark path,” Dormé said with a shake of her head.  “I cannot approve this - nor do I believe Padmé would either.” 

Typho simply shrugged.  “Aye, but since she and the Jedi are not here to counsel me and instill high-minded ideals, I am left with only the bitterness in my heart for guidance.” 

Dormé sighed and patted her friend’s arm.  “Sleep on it, Gregar.  Perhaps the morning will bring clearer answers.”

Gregar gave a noncommittal nod before they powered down the apartment for the evening, already dreading the morning to come.

* * *

 Dormé’s hand traced the fine grooves and designs of the coppery headdress.  She remembered it so well - Padmé had worn it the first time she had left Coruscant with Anakin, when they were both posing as refugees.  Well-dressed refugees, Dormé thought with wry pride.   

The headdress had always been one of Dormé’s favorite pieces.  In her mind’s eye, she could still see how the sun glinted off of its crescent shape the day she had hugged Padmé goodbye.  Tears stung the corners of Dormé’s eyes as the memories flooded back in return. 

A soft knock brought Dormé out of her reverie as Gregar appeared at the door of Padmé’s closet carrying several small boxes.  “I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I found these in the speeder’s trunk.”  Dormé immediately recognized the boxes that contained hundreds of makeup colors for the Senator.  Padmé’s skin tone was so versatile; she had looked good in almost any shade. 

“Thank you, Gregar,” Dormé said, rising from the stool where she had been carefully storing sumptuous dresses for the last several hours.  Dormé took the makeup boxes and added them to the “as-yet-to-be-packed” pile.   

Gregar raised his one good eyebrow at Dormé.  “You look like you could use a break.  You’ve been at this the better part of two days now.” 

“And need I remind you I’m only perhaps a third of the way through the Senator’s wardrobe,” Dormé replied. 

“Even so, why don’t we go out tonight?  The Galaxies Opera House is hosting the Mon Calamari Ballet for another few days.  Padmé had reservations for her usual box and I just thought….well, it would be a shame to waste them,” Gregar said, he cheeks coloring slightly. 

Dormé was about to refuse, but then thought better of it.  Why not go?  She would be leaving Coruscant behind forever, and shows at the Galaxies Opera House had been one of her and Padmé’s favorite things to do after a long day in the Senate chambers. 

“I don’t really have anything to wear…” Dormé replied. 

Gregar waved a hand across the mass of dresses that had yet to be packed.  “I’m sure you can find something in here?” he suggested.

“But these are Padmé’s-” Dormé began to reply before being cut off. 

“Exactly.  Find her favorite gown and give it one last outing before being packed away and sent to a museum forever,” Gregar said.  “I think she wouldn’t want all these beautiful clothes interred in a museum crypt.”  He looked down at the floor.  “Besides, you’ll look lovely in them.” 

Dormé gave Gregar a small smile.  “Very well then.  If I am going as a representative of Senator Amidala, I expect to be accompanied by Captain Gregar Typho.”

Gregar gave Dormé a simple salute, and said, “I’ll see you in an hour then.”

Giggling despite her best efforts, Dormé turned back to the clothes she had yet to pack up.  Running her hand along the sumptuous brocade and beading of what they had called the “Peacock dress,” the handmaid’s eye caught sight of something dark and sultry.  She pulled a black, off-the-shoulder dress that had a high, detached collar.  Dormé almost laughed imagining herself in the outfit.  Much too sultry for her to pull off! 

Turning around, she saw Padmé’s senatorial gowns.  The ones she had worn for addressing the delegation were much too fancy for Dormé...but one of the others had always caught her eye.  Padmé had worn it after the attempt on her life had killed Cordé.  It was a rich blue velvet with an intricate golden hairpiece.  Dormé had always favored blue…

With the help of a dressing droid station they’d had installed years ago, Dormé emerged clad in the midnight blue dress.  It felt strange, as though a bit of Padmé was still with Dormé, giving her strength.  Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, Dormé could almost see her dear friend if she squinted hard enough.

Her reverie was interrupted as a light cough sounded behind her.  “You look lovely, Dormé,” Gregar said as he stood before the handmaid in his dress uniform.

Dormé favored him with a warm smile.  “You look rather sharp yourself, Captain.”  He offered her his arm, and led Dormé to the waiting speeder. 

The night air was cool as they traversed the bustling speeder lanes of the city.  Dormé reveled in the light, the sound, the pulsing life of Coruscant.  By Shiraya, she didn’t want to leave all this behind.  But what point would there be in staying?  There was nothing here for her now; certainly not as part of Gregar’s misguided path of revenge.  If Dormé had learned one thing during her encounters with Jedi over the years, it was to try and let go of anger and hate. 

All too soon, their speeder touched down in front of the Opera House, and an attendant droid piloted it away for parking.  Gregar offered Dormé his arm as they began to ascend the many steps leading up into the music hall.

“Nowhere else could you see such an amazing array of people,” Dormé said quietly as she turned her head to Gregar.  And it was true - species from all over the galaxy were attendees here tonight.  Dormé caught sight of the multi-hued lekku of a Twi’lek pair, and the huge eyes of a group of Mon Calamari.  It was beautiful to be in the presence of so many different life forms from around the galaxy.

Dormé saw many people turn towards them, saw the recognition flicker in their eyes as their brains struggled to place where they had seen her before.  Dormé supposed it perhaps hadn’t been the wisest idea to dress like Padmé when one shared a similar appearance.  Still, it was flattering to occasionally be mistaken for the late Senator.

As the pair rounded a corner on the way to the Naboo box, Dormé almost collided with a willowy, white-clad figure.  “Dormé?”

“Sheltay!” Dormé cried, and the two friends were instantly hugging.  Sheltay Retrac was the Senatorial Aide for Senator Organa of Alderaan.  She favored flowing, white outfits that were set off nicely against her tan skin and dark brown hair.  Sheltay and Dormé had long been associated - Alderaan and Naboo often voted together on important issues, so their Senators had long enjoyed close relations.

“It is so good to see you, my friend,” Sheltay said, her brown eyes warm.  “After hearing the terrible news about Senator Amidala, I feared the worst.  Why did you not tell me you were returning to Coruscant?”

“It’s not for long, I’m afraid,” Dormé replied.  “I’m just here to pack up Padmé’s things before the new Naboo delegation arrives.”

Sheltay’s eyebrow raised at that.  “They’re not keeping you on?  Are they utterly mad?  That office will fall apart without you.”

“That may be,” Dormé replied, looking down at the plush carpet.  Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper.  “Even so, I could not stay here.  There are too many memories, too much pain now.”

Sheltay placed a comforting hand on Dormé’s shoulder.  “I understand.  If something happened to Bail…” she mused.  Snapping back to her chipper, businesslike demeanor, Sheltay gave Dormé a pressing look.  “Well then, you must come to tea tomorrow!”

Dormé sighed.  “Sheltay, I still have so much packing to do…”  Dormé knew it was almost futile to argue with the Alderaanian aide.  Sheltay was renowned for getting what she wanted.

“Nonsense, dear!  If we are to never see each other again, I simply won’t take no for an answer!”  Sheltay pulled a holo-stylus from her pocket and activated its screen, adding ‘Tea with Dormé’ at fifteen-hundred hours.  “There, it’s settled!  See you tomorrow dear,” Sheltay said, kissing Dormé lightly on the cheek waving goodbye and bustling off.

“That woman is a force of nature,” Gregar chuckled.

Dormé joined her companion’s mirthful laugh.  “Indeed.  The Loyalists could never have submitted as many Senate bills without her careful planning and organization.”

The pair found their box easily, as its entrance was flanked by statues of the goddess Shiraya that Padmé had imported.  Gregar brought up the drink menu and ordered a Corellian brandy for himself, and a Chandrilan Blue for Dormé.  (She was privately very pleased that he remembered her favorite beverage).  When the attendant droid brought their beverages, Gregar served Dormé the faintly fluorescent blue drink.

“Cheers,” he said, as they clinked glasses.  Dormé glanced around the Opera House.  All around them in other boxes, Senators, surviving members of the Techno Union and Trade Federation, Hutt gangsters, and all manner of creatures engaged in similar behavior as the gravity spheres in the center of the performance space began to fill with water in preparation for the show.

“Are you sure you’re not going to miss all this?” Gregar asked, breaking Dormé’s reverie.

She simply shrugged.  “How can I not miss it?  I began attending Padmé right after the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo.  I was with her the first moment she stepped onto a Coruscant landing platform as the newly-elected Senator of Naboo.  I’ve heard people speak in the Senate Chambers from all across the galaxy, seen systems rise and fall in prominence.  It’s been my life for the last decade…” Dormé looked sadly across the people gathered in the Opera House, “And now it’s done.”

With those words, the house lights dimmed, and the Mon Calamari Ballet began what - to Dormé - was their most exquisite show ever.

* * *

 Dormé rang the bell at the doorway to the Alderaanian Embassy.  She had always been impressed that they had a real, actual metal bell situated above the graceful arch of the doorway. 

“Coming!” Sheltay’s graceful alto rang out from behind the door.  The faux-wood door whooshed softly open as Sheltay gave Dormé a beaming smile. 

“I brought Theed Palace tea cakes,” Dormé said, giving Sheltay a small covered basket with the delectable pastries. 

“Thank you, dear!  You remembered how much I loved them!” Sheltay gushed. 

Dormé gave a light laugh.  “How could I forget after you practically hoarded the entire basket to yourself during our first meeting?” 

Sheltay led Dormé through the graceful arched hallways of the Alderaanian Embassy.  Dormé was always struck by how similar Alderaan and Naboo were in their approach to beauty and fine things.  Sheltay ushered Dormé into a fine parlor where they had shared tea many times.  As she laid out the tea service, Dormé filled Sheltay in on Gregar’s plans to stay on Coruscant and try to find out the truth of what happened to Padmé. 

“Now, you must tell me of your plans for the future, Dormé,” Sheltay said as she poured two aromatic cups of Felucia Green.  She handed Dormé a cup and saucer, along with one of the tea cakes. 

“What’s to tell, really?” Dormé asked with a sigh.  “I am returning to Naboo having failed in my duties to protect Senator Amidala.  Not many will be willing to forgive that, I think.  You know how beloved a figure she was on my world.” 

Sheltay took a long sip of her tea while arching an elegant eyebrow at Dormé.  “Are you saying you’re going to be some sort of pariah?  An outcast?”

“Outside of my family, it is a distinct possibility,” Dormé replied.

“Then why not leave it all behind?” Sheltay asked.  “Stay with Captain Typho here on Coruscant, perhaps?”

Dormé shook her head.  “I can’t go down that path.  Master Kenobi and Padmé often spoke of the Dark Side, how fear and anger lead us there.  I know Padmé wouldn’t have wanted it for me.”

A light knock sounded at the archway leading into the parlor.  Dormé gasped and bowed as she saw Prince Bail Organa standing in the doorway, leaning languidly up against the frame.  “Pardon the interruption ladies, but I couldn’t help but overhear Dormé’s story,” he said, inclining his head to Dormé, who gave a small curtsy.  “We are very saddened to hear of your loss.”

“You are most kind, Your Highness,” Dormé replied as she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes.

Senator Organa strode across the room and took Dormé into a brief hug.  “I am truly sorry.  Padmé was a dear friend and a most trusted colleague.  The stars dim with her loss.”

Dormé sniffled and wiped her eyes.  “Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied.

Senator Organa settled himself next to Sheltay, and she poured him a cup of tea as well.  “Bail, why don’t you tell Dormé the happy news?” she suggested, as a knowing look passed between them.

Senator Organa smiled.  “Yes, my wife Breha and I have just adopted a little girl.”

It was Dormé’s turn to raise her eyebrows.  “Y-you don’t say, Your Highness?  A little girl?”

Senator Organa gave a very slow nod.  “Yes, I have a holo of her right here,” he said tapping his wrist communicator.  An image of a beautiful baby sleeping contentedly in the Queen’s arms appeared before them.

Was it simply wistful hope, or did Dormé recognize those sparkling eyes.  Could it really be?  Could she even really ask?

“She’s a beautiful child,” Dormé said, not sure of what else to say.

“Yes, we feel she has the coloring of her mother,” Senator Organa said, his tone distinctly denoting the last two words as he looked Dormé straight in the eyes.

“May I ask where her mother was from...and if she still lives?” Dormé tested them. 

Bail shook his head sadly.  “The mother passed away under tragic circumstances, I’m afraid,” he said.  “But she was well loved by all who knew her - both on her home planet and beyond.” 

Dormé could see he was unwilling to outright say where the child’s birth mother had been from, but knew he was hinting that the child was Padmé’s. 

“When I ran into you last night at the Opera and learned of your circumstances, I told Senator Organa,” Sheltay said.  “And, well, believing you might know the child’s temperament best…” 

“...We’re hoping you’ll accept a position as governess for our little Princess,” Bail finished. 

Dormé was momentarily dumbstruck.  “You mean...move to Alderaan?” 

Sheltay grinned.  “When one is a governess, yes, it generally means living where the child does.” 

“This is just so much to take in.  I don’t really know what to say,” Dormé said.  She had gone from losing her best friend and facing a bleak future on Naboo to discovering in an instant that perhaps the universe itself in some cosmic, karmic moment had returned a sliver of Padmé to her.

“Why, say yes, of course!” Sheltay exclaimed.  

Dormé turned to Senator Organa.  “Are you...truly okay with this?” she asked, staring deep into his brown eyes.

The Prince nodded.  “Indeed.  I desire the the young princess to not only be the shining example of her homeworld of Alderaan, but to be imbued with a sense of her history.  I think you are the best person to do that.  In some way, I feel the Force guiding you to us.”

Dormé nodded.  Who was she to argue with the Force?  “Then, Your Highness, I humbly accept your offer to serve as the young Princess’s governess, and pray that I do not disappoint you.”  She gave a low bow in Senator Organa’s direction.

“And I graciously accept your offer to serve the Royal House of Alderaan, Dormé,” Senator Organa said.  “Queen Breha should be very pleased when I tell her the good news.”

Sheltay poured another round of tea.  “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Dormé chuckled.  “Need I even ask if you already had this planned the moment you invited me to tea last night, Sheltay?”  The Alderaanian woman simply winked in her direction.   Dormé shook her head, but her eyes were alight with laughter.  “You are so conniving sometimes,” she said.

Senator Organa raised his cup.  “As the Empire grows in power, I feel that may be a useful skill to have.”  He shook his head suddenly, snapping out of his short reverie and draining his cup.  “Well, I shall leave all the details to Sheltay.  A pleasure as always, Dormé - though you shall have to get used to being called ‘Lady Dormé’ now that you serve the royal family.”

As the Senator got up to leave and began walking away, Dormé lightly touched his arm.  “Your Highness, I don’t think I got the child’s name,” she said.

He gave her a crooked grin.  “It’s Princess Leia.  Just as her mother wanted.”

It was Dormé’s turn to grin.  “Just so, Your Highness.”


End file.
